


Twisted

by justanotherbusyfangirl



Category: Supernatural
Genre: Canon-Typical Violence, Gen, Major Character Injury
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-04-06
Updated: 2019-04-06
Packaged: 2020-01-05 22:42:50
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,424
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/18375569
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/justanotherbusyfangirl/pseuds/justanotherbusyfangirl
Summary: Sam and Dean are on a hunt, but when they split up, Dean gets into a bit of trouble.





	Twisted

**Author's Note:**

> For my Break the Zone bingo card, the Survival/Wilderness square, and my @badthingshappenbingo Card, the Animal Attack square.

It wasn’t a wendigo.  Hell, it wasn’t even a werewolf.  If it had been either of those, or any number of other creatures, Dean would have been ready for it. 

But no, it was a mountain lion.

A full-grown, territorial mountain lion.

Dean thought he had a good ear for the forest, usually able to hear the faintest rustle of leaves, but this damn cat snuck up on him.  He fired off a shot as soon as it was launched toward him – a silver bullet that would have made a difference if it was some sort of monster – but the lion was fast and the bullet only hit shoulder before all hundred-and-fifty-plus pounds were on top of him.

Dean heard a crack as pain zinged up his leg, but he didn’t have time to dwell on that now.  The impact knocked Dean’s gun out of his hand and then he was using all of his strength to keep the teeth away from his face and neck.  He kicked up on the back legs, somehow launching the lion into a flip. 

Of course, being a cat, the thing landed on its feet and was immediately headed back for Dean, but the second of freedom along with a rush of adrenaline gave Dean what he needed to get his gun back.  This time he hit home, but not before huge claws slashed across his upper body, tearing through cloth and skin.

When the lion stayed still on the ground, Dean allowed himself to catch his breath.  That was not a good thing, though, as moving anything, including his chest, hurt now that the immediate danger was gone and he could focus on himself without adrenaline-fueled energy.

“Fuck,” he groaned, looking down to see his shirt bloody, the scratch marks seeping.  Luckily those weren’t terribly deep, just superficial. 

It was when he twisted to sit up that he was reminded of the pain in his leg.  He looked down to see his right foot twisted in a direction it was definitely _not_ supposed to go.  He reached down to touch it, but immediately regretted even the slight pressure his fingers brought.

Dean muffled a cry and looked around, the twilight making the woods around him difficult to see through.  He did spot a few sticks, though, and he pulled his way across the clearing (giving the mountain lion a wide berth) on his butt, careful not to jostle his foot too much.

By the time he got toward the sticks, he was out of breath.  He reached into his pocket, pulling his phone out.  Of course he had no service – he and Sam had known the mountain was spotty – so he put the phone away.

Dean grabbed two of the largest sticks, getting himself up onto one foot before using them as a cane for each arm.  Being upright made the blood flow to his foot and it throbbed, but he knew he needed to get away from the mountain lion’s corpse and toward somewhere that Sam could find him.  He’d passed a rocky outcrop on his hike up, so he decided he would head there.

It was slow going and he stopped every few feet to listen to the woods around him, not wanting to be snuck up on again, especially now that he was injured.  His foot throbbed more with each passing minute, and looking down at the jarred angle of it made his stomach turn.  He persevered, though, until finally saw the rocks up ahead in the moonlight.

The last stretch took the longest, it seemed, but Dean knew it was probably because of blood loss and pain.  His body was wrecked and he needed to rest, but he also knew not to fall asleep until Sam could find him. 

Dean made his way to the rocks and maneuvered himself back into a sitting position, leaning against a boulder.  He shuffled around himself, using the two makeshift canes to prop his foot up a bit.  His lower leg or ankle – he wasn’t a doctor he couldn’t be sure which – was definitely broken, and the amount of time he’d spent standing had made his foot swell terribly.  With a grimace, Dean carefully loosened his boot as much as he could before painfully pulling it off, only letting a small cry out when he did so. 

The pain lessened somewhat now that the pressure was gone, but Dean knew more needed to be done.  He looked around him, searching for any movement of the forest or any glimmer of light – fire or flashlight – around him, seeing nothing.  He took a few deep breaths before grabbing ahold of his foot and turning it back in the direction it should be facing, a yell of pain escaping his lips at the movement.

Sweat dripped down Dean’s face and he leaned back, letting his throbbing leg and foot be still.  He dug into his pocket for a granola bar, opening it to eat.  He wasn’t necessarily hungry, but he knew food would help him gain more energy and stay awake.

Dean chewed slowly as he surveyed his surroundings with the eye of a prison guard, looking for anything out of the ordinary or strange.  A couple owls flew overhead on their nightly hunt, and at one point some small creature – maybe a possum? – skittered through the forest floor.  Nothing else approached him, though, the night quiet.

He checked his watch when he was finished with his granola bar, seeing that it was well past two in the morning.  Sam would be worried about him by now, as they had agreed to meet back at the Impala at midnight.  Deciding to do something about his situation, Dean scooted across the rocks until he could reach some sticks and branches from the ground, tossing them back toward his canes. 

He got enough together to start a fire, making sure that it was close enough to lend its heat to him in the cool air but far enough that it wouldn’t spark toward him when he couldn’t leap away easily.

The fire was mesmerizing, enough that Dean didn’t notice when his eyes closed and he began to doze.

“Dean!”  He heard, causing him to jerk awake immediately.  His gun was in his hand and he tried to stand up, completely forgetting that his leg was screwed.  A cry of pain and dropped gun later had Sam kneeling by his side.

The sky was still dark, so Dean knew he hadn’t slept for too long, although there were signs of the coming dawn.  “Dean what the hell happened to you?” Sam asked, looking from the bloody gashes of his shirt to his shoeless, swollen leg and foot.

“Mountain lion,” Dean gruffed.  “Don’t think this was our kind of case, Sammy.”

Sam’s eyebrows raised nearly to his hairline.  “A mountain lion?” Sam asked.  “Where’d it go?”

Dean huffed, trying to move his foot back to its perch.  “I killed it.”

Sam laughed for a minute before realizing Dean was serious.  “You _killed_ a mountain lion?  After it got close enough to do all this?”  Dean nodded, frowning at his foot.

“I think I actually need a real doc for this leg, Sam,” Dean admitted, the pain rearing its head again.  Sam nodded.

“At least we don’t have to make up a story,” Sam said.  He stood, grabbing some dirt to douse the still smoldering fire.  “Come on.”  He offered Dean both hands, and Dean was in enough pain that he didn’t even deny the offered help.

Once again being upright made his foot throb, but he gritted his teeth and bore the pain.  He put his gun back in its place and grabbed his stick-canes, starting to walk off.

“Dean,” Sam said after just a few steps.

“What?” Dean asked, a little harsher than he meant to.  It wasn’t Sam’s fault Dean was crippled.

Sam pointed in the other direction.  “Car’s that way.”

Dean’s head dropped in a mixture of embarrassment and frustration before turning around.  Sam followed close behind, catching Dean’s elbow the couple times he stumbled before helping him into the backseat. 

The nurses and doctors alike were impressed that Dean had killed the mountain lion and survived the rest of the night out in the forest, and for the first time in a long time the brothers didn’t have to make up a story to explain their wounds.

Not that Dean _wanted_ something like this to happen again, but it was kinda nice, he thought, as painkillers lulled him to sleep.


End file.
